Mojo, a story of a few parts... (Or as many as I can milk outta the sucker...)

And so the story begins.

(Probably, there will be pictures.  Just not on today's blog.)

Something Good Coming

Husband and I finally sort of agreed on the plan of attack.   I was not really sure about the sleeping in the truck part, but he'd gone to the effort to get a covered truck canopy, that made it like a small tent.  (Well, if a tent was out of  insulated metal, and had windows all around...)  I asked him when we were going to head out, and expected midnight, 3am, something along those lines.  He responded, oh, about 7 or so. 

WH- AAAAT??? 

Well, says he, you don't have to be at the concert until about 7:30 pm.  If we drive steadily, we should be there sometime about 3 or so.  (Steadily?  Time for a reality check...)

Husband, you do remember that we agreed that I get potty and walk stops, RIGHT?  (As much as I love my husband, his idea of driving to someplace is get in, drive, get to destination.  Potty is not usually in the equation...)  But, he had planned for that, so I figured it was OK.  So, I figured I had better go over the list of items I needed to bring. 

Husband asked, do you have your ticket? Yes. 

In fact, I had put it in my purse the night before.  After finishing all the morning ablutions of brushing and cleaning, I packed things I needed.  Mom called. 

Have you put your ticket in?  Yes, I said, double checking. 

PIL's had shown up a few days earlier, so I had a note on how to feed the various animals, and was walking MIL through the process.  She was fine with everyone but the llamas, she was afraid of being spat upon, so she said FIL could do that.  (Why, oh why, does everyone fear llama spit?  It's not caustic, doesn't burst into flame, it stinks a bit, but that's about it.  And my guys generally don't spit at people when there is food involved.)  So, after running through the gamut of animal food instruction, egg collection, and where to avoid dog and chicken poo, I ask, any questions? 

Yes, do you have your ticket?

Grumble.

Ahem. Why, yes, I do.  (Can we detect an itty bitty theme going on here?  I realize I am a bit scatterbrained, but SHEESH!)

So I get the last of the stuff packed, and realize, I don't have my knitting.  Now THAT'S important!  I get some black and red yarn (the color of the CD cover) for a sock that I have already dubbed "Mojo Socks", and stuff it into my bag, with needles and tools, and a pattern. 

Wait... 

Where is my pattern?  Hmmm.  Nope.  Over here.... No.  So I grouse a bit, and go in the back and make a copy.  Husband asks, oh, it's a new pattern?  No, just the 'plain vanilla' one I always use.  He stares for a minute, then asks, why do you need the pattern, then?

I almost can't answer him.  I finally say that certain parts, like turning the heel, I haven't memorized.  Which is sort of true, but I guess it's the knitting version of a security blanket for me.  If I have the paper along, I know that I don't have to worry if I forget a decrease, or which row is K1, slip 1.  Husband is a wise man, in this respect, he accepted my answer at face value, and just humored the crazy woman.  He has learned over our 19 years together, that it might not make sense, but it makes harmony.  Sometimes, that's enough.  Especially when travelling.

Into the Great Wide Open

So we get on the road, and after Husband checking AGAIN that I had my ticket, (Which I promptly took out and showed him), we buzzed along, eating miles of highway.  Hit Portland, and I was expecting a lot of traffic. 

But, I should have known.  Husband had done some calculations, checked the trucker's atlas, probably got out a scrying mirror with a direct connection to the state traffic board, and came up with a route that took us right past Portland, and up to Washington with speedy, yet not clogged, traffic flow. 

Soon, we crossed the Mighty Columbia, and were in the state of Washington.  I knit some rounds on the cuff of my sock, and we travelled along some more until a rest area loomed.  Husband asked if I need to use it.  Before I could answer, he said, I do, so let's just stop.  (Uh. Okay. Sure...) He trots over to the facilities, and I people watch.  I was greatly amused to see an older brother (I assume they were related, at any rate) with "wheelies" style shoes, grab little brother, and be pulled along like a water-skier by a boat.  Both seemed to be enjoying the experience.   

Husband returned, and I used the facilities, only to return and realize he wasn't at the pickup.  I look around, to see him sitting off to the side, feeding a chipmunk.  Now this isn't a small, Chip and Dale  chipmunk, this thing is the size of... a small cat.  But it had this little tiny head and upper body, and this huge caboose.  We promptly dubbed him "Bowling Pin".  Mr. Pin was eating the corn chips from Husband's hand readily.  Husband then decided to eat some of the cookies I'd baked.  The chipmunk all but got on his lap to check out the new goodies.  Husband, being the softy that he is, gave Mr. Pin a taste.  That was all it took,  Mr. Pin threw the chip away, and took the hunk of cookie.  Husband picked up the chip and handed to Mr. Pin again, and he tossed over his shoulder, and ran up on Husband's lap with his hands out for more cookie!  No stupid corn chips with that goodness around!  Finally, Husband finished the cookie, and after a last attempt to give the discarded chip to Mr. Pin, and yet another rejection of same, the chipmunk sort of ran/slithered/waddled to a nearby sunny wall and started eating the stash he'd packed in his cheeks.  We laughed, but realized he might have given up on us, not because of lack of food, but because someone walked by with three small dogs.  I have no idea how that might have ended up.  Little hyper dogs, big ol' fat chipmunk...  Perhaps the 'munk was pretty smart to take a powder.

We started heading to Eastern Washington, which meant we were headed UP as well as East. 

Pop, pop. Ping! Poppoppop... 

I don't know about Husband, but my ears sounded like I had a popcorn maker stuck on high where my eardrums should be!  We finally level out, and are in sort of a valley.  Looking up, we start seeing big, white windmills.  I have seen them in pictures, and on TV, but had never actually seen one where I had some context of size.  Those things are HUGE!  I saw a dump truck next to one, and it looked like a toy.  And a SMALL toy, at that.  People, pfft.  They were hardly visible, unless they were directly in front of the big white towers.  It was strangely pretty, tan sand with sage white scrub, brilliant white towers, and blue, blue sky.  We were surprised how random the placement seemed to be.  Husband said it might be because of how the wind flowed over the various hills, so they would get the most efficient use of the space.  Some of them almost looked like a child had scattered jacks, they seemed so random.  (A very large child, and very mobile jacks, but still...)  And again, I was surprised, one or two of them would be just buzzing right along, but the one right next to it would be stock still.  This went on for miles.  We saw new ones being built, the towers were in either three or four sections, and then there were three blades atop.  Husband noticed that, like an airplane, if someone was working on it, they had it tied down, so the wind couldn't catch and turn the blades while someone was on the outside.  (I just want to know how they tie and untie the cables!)

Mystic Eyes

We were getting hungry, and saw, just at the edge of Yakima, a sign with the Golden Arches logo.  Quick, no fuss, no muss, we'll just stop there.  So we turned, and drove.

And drove.

And DROVE. 

We found out, that just because there is a sign saying something is available, it, however, doesn't mean it's very close.  We never turned off, and after what seemed like 2/3 of the city had gone by, there was McD's.  We had a tiny lunch (Basically the child one, without fries, neither of us knew how much longer before we arrived somewhere with a bathroom again.)  I admired the place, commenting on the curtains (sage crushed velvet) and the fireplace.  Husband glanced around, and said something about McStarbucks.  I laughed, and two young girls looked up, that were sitting in overstuffed chairs. 

I wish I could ask children if I could take pictures without people thinking I was a roving pervert.  These girls had the most beautiful, liquid brown eyes I think I have ever seen, with lashes that supermodels would kill for.  And I think they weren't quite sure about us, or thought we were strange 'old' people, because they kept glancing over at us. 

(Ok, is one fuzzy bearded man, and one somewhat portly chick in tie-dye that unique, in an area where I saw no less that three people with Mohawks?) 

But the girls just had such beautiful eyes.  I hope they are bless with seeing the beauty that I saw, with them.

Then we headed for the venue...

(To be con't...)